


The Blow Job Incident

by RebAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 15, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), DestielFFPrompt (Supernatural), Fluff, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebAngel/pseuds/RebAngel
Summary: Ten more minutes in that gas station on his way back and he wouldn’t even hear Sam and Castiel talking about - what Dean thought was at the time - blow jobs. In his defense, though… Well, okay. There was nothing in the world that could justify this assumption. But Cas was asking questions about whether it was better to swallow or spit and that was the first thing Dean’s brain came up with.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 113





	The Blow Job Incident

Somewhere around 5 am Dean finally gave up trying to sleep and opened his eyes. It was early. He could get away with staying in bed for at least two more hours. Tempting, for about five seconds before all the mortifying details about last week’s _‘tooth-brushing incident’_ surfaced once again.

Dean shifted on his back, reaching blindly for the pillow and slamming it up against his face. His fingers dug into the fabric as he grunted his frustration there. “Fuck.”

Ten more minutes in that gas station on his way back and he wouldn’t even have heard Sam and Castiel talking about - what Dean thought was at the time - blow jobs. In his defense, though… Well, okay. There was nothing in the world that could justify this assumption. But Cas was asking questions about whether it was better to swallow or spit and _that_ was the first thing Dean’s brain came up with.

What followed, was a roller coaster. If someone had to teach Cas how to give a proper head, Dean had thought, then he sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone else touch his angel. This is how he ended up in his room, pants off and dick in hand, blushing under his friend’s intense blue stare.

Castiel had taken a good look at him, head to toe, before asking carefully why Dean thought this would help him learn how to brush his teeth.

Even now, five and a half days later, Dean made sure he wouldn’t have to face the angel on his way to the kitchen. Moving like a thief in the bunker's corridors had been his routine already. For the time since the said _incident,_ Dean hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of Castiel’s coat around the corner. And no wonder. After what happened, the guy was most likely mentally scarred for life.

It’s not like Dean hadn’t thought about apologizing. A couple of times actually, over one too many glasses of whiskey. But what would, perchance, fix this? What would Dean say to make things better?

_Listen, Cas, buddy, I know I thought you wanted to suck my dick…_ Nope. And the worst part was that thinking about it wasn’t helping at all.

Because.

The thought of Castiel, on his knees, going down on him was in Dean’s top three of _‘the hottest things ever’_ for years now.

In the kitchen, he found a fresh pot of hot coffee and a note from Sam, saying he’s going out for a run. No sign of Castiel so far. _Thank fuck for small miracles._

Still wearing his pajamas, Dean sat and took a deep breath, blessed by coffee and solitude.

Fine. He made a mistake. Shit like that happened every day. _To someone, somewhere._ Wasn’t a big deal, right? Until it was. Perving over your best friend was one thing. Shoving your dick into his face, well that was a _hard_ no.

The point was that Dean was the one who taught Cas about consent and how to ask and make sure that he understood the answer correctly before, well…Before there were any ‘shoving’ and ‘dick’ involved.

Dean hid his face in his palms. With Castiel and him, there was always some shitstorm going on. But this, oh, _this_ felt like rock bottom.

_Hey, Cas, remember the other day when you saw me rubbing one out..._

“Good morning.”

Dean jumped at his seat, nearly tipping his mug off the table.

Castiel stood by the door, half-foot into the room, looking like one of those cartoon characters, freeze-framed mid-tracks while running. His whole posture was uncertain. Dean could read him like an open book. Surprise, bleeding into mild embarrassment with panic on the edges.

“Morning,” Dean managed, keeping his voice low and steady. “You, um.” He cleared his throat, trying to come up with something to say.

Castiel shifted, ready to leave.

“Want some coffee?” Dean spat out. Wasn’t the brightest thing to say but it looked like, somehow, it did the magic.

Castiel lifted his eyes up to look at him. Still clearly unsure but searching, asking permission.

Dean gave him a small nod.

Castiel took a mug from the cupboard. It was big and yellow and it had a bee drawing on one side and written _“Have a bee-utiful day”_ on the other. It had a crack, though. All the way down on the handle, fixed with superglue at some point. Cas had bought the mug from a garage sale a couple of months ago.

Apparently, Cas had an affinity for broken things.

Dean shook his head, chasing the thought away.

Castiel sat stiffly across the table, fingers curled around the mug as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

The air between them grew heavier, thick with the silence. Dean could hear the gears in his own brain clicking while it worked frantically, looking for a solution.

“Enough.” Castiel gruffed out. He rose from his seat, his coffee still untouched.

“Cas,” Dean panted out, panic rising fast in his throat because this was it. Cas got finally fed up with his bullshit and was leaving for good.

But instead, the angel shrugged off his coat and threw it over the table. 

After the shoes and socks followed, Dean finally blinked up at him, confused.

“First, you have to understand,“ Cas started off when his suit jacket fell after the trench, “That if I wanted to learn how to give pleasure through fellatio, I wouldn’t - _for the world_ \- ask your brother about it.”

Dean gaped at him, unable to comprehend where the conversation was going.

“And second, you wouldn’t even look at me since the other day.” Cas’ fingers loosened his tie and picked up the buttons of the white dress shirt he was wearing. “So I thought if you were to see me naked in return then you’d quit being mad about it.”

Oh. Now it hit him. Cas was trying to fix things the best way he thought would work for Dean. As if Dean wasn’t the one to overstep.

“What? No.” Dean tried to look away. He really did. But Cas’ fingers got him staring, transfixed. “You can’t possibly think that this is on you. Since, you know, I am the one who dragged you into his room and gave you a flash of his junk.”

“Yes.” Cas agreed but didn’t stop unbuttoning his shirt. “And it was clearly a product of miscommunication. I don’t think it was a big deal.”

“You don’t… “ Dean rubbed the back of his neck, ready to make a dirty joke out of instinct but Cas pulled off the tie and slipped the said shirt off his shoulders and the words died on the tip of Dean’s tongue.

Expression hard and full of resolve, Castiel was watching him. Narrowed eyes, lips pressed in a thin line, and chin stubbornly tilted up.

“Yeah. Okay. You made your point.” Dean was desperately fighting to keep his line of sight above Cas’ collar bone.

“It doesn’t look like it.” Cas objected, hands falling over his belt.

Dean forced his body to stand up and he took an unsteady step towards Castiel’s edge of the table. It felt more like stepping on the frontline than anything else in his life ever did.

“You wanna see this through the end, huh?”

Cas breathed in short, only on an arm’s length. “Yes.”

“Fine.” Dean’s hand curled over Castiel’s belt and tugged him closer. “Does it matter who’s gonna take your clothes off, then?”

The way Cas allowed to be manhandled gave him the answer, more or less. But it was something entirely different to hear the angel saying it.

“I’d much rather let you do it.”

_Good_ , Dean thought, fingers hooked in the waistband of Cas’ pants, brushing naked skin. Cas made a small sound at the contact and Dean thought _Yes,_ this was gonna be the death of him. How in the world he was supposed to undress Cas and let him go after?

“You did most of the work already.” He gave Castiel a cocky grin but his fingers were trembling slightly while working to undo the angel’s pants and pull them down around his ankles. “Step out,” he commanded, voice husky and low.

Cas took a half-step aside.

Dean stood up and hummed a simple “ _Good.”_ at the side of his neck, lips barely ghosting over Cas’ skin. Then, he patted the short side of the table. "Up here, angel. Lemme look at you."

In nothing but his underwear, Cas moved to sit obediently at the spot Dean had shown him, feet barely touching the floor and hands in his lap.

Finally, Dean allowed himself to look at him. His gaze swiped over Cas' mess of a hair and down the angel's face and he wanted to touch. Bad. To run his fingers through the wayward strands and pull just enough so Cas could make one of those delicious sounds that were seriously threatening to rip out what was left of Dean's self-control.

But, damn. Cas was beautiful like this. The slight pinch of his eyebrows. Blue eyes, wide but curious and trusting. Full lips and tongue darting out to wet them under Dean's stare.

There was a scar on his chest, just above his heart, and this time Dean couldn’t resist touching.

“Angel blade, “ Cas said quietly, shivering as Dean’s fingers ran over the damaged skin. “The one that killed me. I choose to keep it. As a reminder.”

“Of what?” Dean heard his own voice coming out but he could barely recognize it.

“Our life could end at any moment no matter if we are ready or not. We shouldn’t keep important things unsaid.”

“Yeah. It’s more complicated than it sounds.”

Cas' hand rose up to cover Dean's for a short moment. "Not necessarily."

He was so warm under Dean’s fingers.

Dean spread them over the angel’s chest and held his breath, feeling Cas' heart racing underneath. Slightly fast but steady rhythm, so human and so fascinating.

“Would this be enough?” Castiel asked carefully.

Dean’s palm tingled with the low rumble of Cas’ voice and he wanted to laugh. _No_ , he wanted to say. There was no world in which it was enough to always be a half step away from knowing what his angel would taste like.

“I am sorry,” Dean said. “About the, uh. You know, the accident... “

"It’s alright.” Castiel started off reassuringly but Dean could swear that the faintest trace of a smirk tugged at his friend’s lips for a moment there. “It’s not like it was anything I haven’t seen before.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah?” He lifted his eyes up to meet the angel’s. “I’m glad we could be grown-ups and joke about it. But I did overstep, Cas. I acknowledge it and I am sorry.”

“All is forgiven,“ the angel nodded with all the softness in his voice he seemed to keep especially for the times he needed to forgive Dean’s mistakes.

“Good.” Dean echoed while working hard to ignore the fact that they, somehow, ended up too close. 

He knew that the moment had come to let Castiel go. Maybe tell him to get dressed. Laugh it off and move on with their life.

Or maybe he’d run his fingers through Cas’ hair and tug just enough to tilt his head back. Dean had never been good with geometry but he knew how to make a decent angle for a kiss.

He blamed it on the damn kitchen table. It was just the right height to give him all kinds of inappropriate ideas. He could see Cas bent over it, the beautiful curve of his back... 

“Dean,“ Castiel groaned. Almost like it was a part of the fantasy but not quite.

“Yeah?”

“You, um…”

He watched Castiel lick his lips, the rest of the sentence - whatever it was - falling lost. As if Dean hadn’t already imagined those lips, wrapped around his...

“I am sorry. I tried to block it.” The angel gripped the edge of the table. “But you think too loud.”

Castiel’s words barely sank through the fog of blinding desire currently clouding Dean’s mind. Dean froze at the moment they did, though, painfully aware that the hotdogs pajama bottom did nothing to hide his excitement.

His first response was to back off. Like he did a million times before. Turn back, run away, and keep pretending he hasn’t been in love with his best friend for years.

Castiel’s fingers laid on his hip through the thin layer of fabric. A light, simple touch that couldn’t stop Dean from pulling away, at least not physically. But grounding nonetheless.

“It’s alright,” the angel said quietly, “You can go.”

Cas knew him so well. When did that happen?

The thing was that Dean was never good at vocalizing his thoughts. Everything had always sounded so much better in his head in comparison with the words, coming out of his mouth.

He tilted Cas’ chin up, just enough so their eyes met and thought, _I gather you can hear me._

The single nod he felt against his fingers gave him the answer.

_Good_ , Dean thought. _Because_ _I’d rather stay this time, Cas. Do you understand?_

Castiel’s blue eyes went wide but he nodded another yes, much more enthusiastic than before.

_This isn’t just a roll in the hay, Cas. It’s something more. You are something more. I don’t know what exactly. But I know that you make me wanna try and not screw things up for a change._

Dean took a breath and killed the short distance between them. Kissing Cas was a lot easier than he thought it would be. Also, it was wonderful and thrilling and he got lost in it, fast, fingers finally buried in Cas’ hair and pulling at the soft strands to find the perfect angle.

But pretty soon it wasn’t enough.

Cas had already found his way under Dean’s shirt, his fingers carefully mapping naked skin and setting Dean's senses on fire.

Dean sighed against Castiel’s mouth and pulled away, just enough to bring their foreheads together instead. This earned him a low, unsatisfied grunt from the angel, and Dean couldn’t help but kiss him again.

“Easy there, cowboy… “ He panted out as they broke apart, “If we do this here, Sam would have me building a pyre for this table first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Bedroom.” Cas fisted the front of Dean’s t-shirt and dragged him in for another kiss. “Now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean could barely form a coherent sentence with Cas being all bossy and hot like that. “Alright.”

***

The first thing Sam saw when he entered the kitchen was Cas’ clothes piled up on the table. It took him a moment to figure things out but, well, some development had to be expected. He was starting to worry that saying nothing against Dean’s assumption about the conversation he witnessed about a week ago was a mistake. Because at the moment he saw Dean leading Cas into his own room instead of the bathrooms he realized how it all sounded out of context. Then Dean stormed out, red-faced and flustered and had been pretending that Castiel didn’t exist ever since.

But it seemed that they worked things out. _First of all_ , Sam thought, _gross_. He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Heya, Jody.” The smile was evident in his voice. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I thought I could come and help you with that vampire case.” He paused, then shook his head. “I know. I just need to get out of here for a couple of days.” He listened for a moment, then sighed. “Well, kinda. Let’s just say that I owe you twenty.”


End file.
